


Cult Classic

by Anonymous



Category: Criminal Minds, Leverage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot got there about half an hour after Hardison had evacuated everyone, uploaded the financial data to their server, and blown up the compound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cult Classic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weaselett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaselett/gifts).



Eliot got there about half an hour after Hardison had evacuated everyone, uploaded the financial data to their server, and blown up the cult compound. Hardison was going to rag on him for ages about that, though not right now – Eliot had alternated between screaming bloody murder into the comm and giving actual useful advice about field bandages once the shooting had started, and Hardison appreciates that level of concern, especially for the stretch of time when Eliot had thought that Hardison was the one who'd been shot. Dedication to his wellbeing was something Hardison appreciated in a friend and teammate. So to give him a break, he told Eliot to cool his heels for a few minutes over the comm, then proceeded to utterly ignore him hanging by the big, official-looking truck he must have stolen from somewhere. It looked like it had good AC and a nice sound system; Eliot would be fine.

He had better things to do, anyway. Like sit next to Hotchner in the back of an ambulance and watch his arm get bandaged up. Hardison suspected that the amount of gauze used was overkill, but wrapping him up seemed like the best way to keep Hotchner from trying to micromanage everyone, which the EMT also must have realized. The compound had been mostly empty anyway, so it's not like he was using up a hot seat there.

The FBI had it handled even without Hotchner anyway. Crime scene techs were swarming over the smoking bunker that was once the compound with tongs and evidence baggies, picking up the sad, burnt remains of the cult's weird eye-covered snake mural and army ration bars fused into their wrappings. The cult members, shell-shocked and listless, had all been arrested already and were being divided up and interviewed by Hotchner's team. (Hardison made sure to wave to Brother Jared as a police officer put him in the back of the car. Brother Jared meekly waved back by waggling one of his hands when the officer turned him around, too crushed to question why Hardison wasn't also cuffed.)

There was no reason for Hotchner to get over there and start meddling, except that he seemed like the same kind of annoying boss that Nate was. Maybe a little better – even after the EMT patted the gauze and left him alone he stayed seated. It was impossible to see the gunshot wound that Hardison had spent the better part of an hour desperately maintaining pressure on under all the gauze, but it didn't seem so serious now; it had been sewn up in less than five minutes. The EMT had given Hotchner an IV in the other arm before starting the last round of wrapping and, hilariously, a juice box, which he sipped stoically.

“Apple?” Hardison asked Hotchner, leaning in to squint at the little green box. He was hovering and he knew it, but he felt entitled to it. The man _did_ get shot while Hardison was kissing him. That sort of thing could give a man a complex.

It didn't seem like Hotchner minded, anyway. “Berry cooler,” he said, a little laugh in his voice. He was smiling now, a reserved quirking of his mouth, which he didn't do at all while they were inside the compound. His cold, assessing stare had been pretty hot then, but this was cute. Hardison found that he liked both looks.

This distracted Hardison enough that he didn't notice the other FBI agent coming up to him until he turned his head and found her right there. “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you,” she said, smiling politely. She's blonde and polished-looking, even though she had to have been staking out the complex all day. Hardison had her pegged as one of Hotchner's even before she leaned around him to say, “the crime scene is basically processed. It doesn't look like anyone was seriously injured in the blast. Are you going to let them take you to the hospital at any point?”

“I'm fine, JJ,” Hotchner sighed. “Special Agent Thomas did an excellent job providing field care while we were inside.”

The agent named JJ paused. “Special Agent Thomas,” she repeated slowly, her eyes flicking over Hardison.

Hardison fought the urge to tense up, remembering Hotchner making him less than ten seconds after he introduced himself. Profilers were annoyingly good, especially for people who used a science Hardison had thought was completely fake yesterday. Instead he nodded at her seriously. “I'm on loan from the Portland office,” he said.

“Right,” JJ said in the same slow, skeptical tone. “The Portland office.”

It was awkard as hell, but Hotchner acted like he didn't notice at all. He wouldn't make too bad a grifter if he got better at smiling on cue. “I requested him specifically. His home office will be the one to interview him.”

“The major crimes unit out of the Portland office will interview him,” JJ said. “Of course.”

Hardison had the feeling that there was no major crimes unit out of the Portland office. He should've said he was from Texas or something. Now he was going to have to fake all the paperwork for a division that didn't exist on top of faking his interview. At least it'd make his Agent Thomas cover look badass. He wondered if he could arrange to be in the room when McSweeten heard he took out a cult.

JJ looked between him and Hotchner, frowning. “I guess I'll wait for that report,” she said finally. “Nice meeting you, Agent Thomas.”

“Nice meeting you too!” Hardison shouted as she walks away...and towards Eliot. Well. If Eliot needed any help, he could ask over the comm, and then Parker could assist. He turned back to Hotchner. “Letting the Portland office handle me, huh?”

“I don't see why not,” Hotchner said. “We're all on the same side, after all.” He put his juice box down with great dignity despite his arm being so heavily bandaged that he had to wave it around like a chicken wing. “I know we both travel a lot. But maybe the next time we're in the same place we could get dinner.”

Hardison grinned, pushing down the urge to kiss him again. It wouldn't look too professional at a crime scene, after all. “Sounds like a plan, Hotchner.”

Hotchner smiled, small and private. “Call me Aaron.”

Hardison couldn't stop himself from whistling the Hymn of the Great Angel as he made it over to Eliot's truck, though JJ gave him a weird look as he passed her. (What? He'd heard it basically nonstop for the last twelve hours. It was catchy.) His mind was already on schemes near Virginia they could disrupt. Parker had mentioned something about an airplane Ponzi scheme somewhere in Maryland the other week, hadn't she? That was pretty close to Quantico. He could do some digging on that.

Eliot was tucking a hastily folded piece of paper into his pocket, but he spared the energy to give Hardison a disgusted look as he climbed into the passenger seat, still smiling like a dope. It didn't look like a number, and Eliot didn't look like he'd just successfully charmed a girl out of asking any hard questions, but Hardison wasn't interested in digging right then. Eliot didn't seem that interested in sharing either. “Didn't you just get abducted by a cult for twelve hours?” He asked instead, bewildered.

“Yeah,” Hardison said. “It's been a pretty great day.”


End file.
